The palpable specter of absence,
brushes the lips ere the press of a kiss,
softening on the edge of a sigh’s sweet perception
and there upon this precipice
we cast our wishes
in all cardinal directions.
Every sad memory
holds a glowing lantern to Your face
and I fade into this visage
leaving not a trace,
nor the slightest pain
whilst Love falls as threads of light
in the gentlest of rain
gathered up in thirsty jars
open skyward
watching stars.
Not You again
but me again
who drifts from my own presence
on the sweet attar of Your absence’ essence.
tis You again
not me again
I am a ghost in my home,
a pleasant haunting
after You have gone.
